She left him for the stove to prepare a salve and pour the tea. She took the cup to Michel.
“It smells awful,” he rasped.
“Drink it,” she said. “It will make what comes next easier.”
Michel looked at her warily and gulped down the tea.
“Now lie on your back.”
He grumbled and obeyed, running his hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and let her continue her ministrations.
She cleaned the wound on his side. The flesh had been peeled from the bone of his rib. She pressed the skin down and laid out the rest of her tools. Then she drew a hand down his torso, looking him over as his muscles relaxed. The tea was doing its job.
Iman entered, with a few others behind him. “It’s ready,” he said. She felt the heat from the iron he held.
Michel’s eyes opened, and he jerked up. “Are you going to—” he asked, looking at her wildly. “Is that for—” he couldn’t get a full question out.
“Open your mouth,” she said. She rolled a dry towel to place in his mouth.
Michel looked at her, wide-eyed. “Have you ever done this before?”
Eve responded by anchoring the towel in his teeth. “Michel,” she soothed. “Don’t you know by now that I am good at everything I do?” She gave him half a grin. “Now, quit talking and bite down. You’ve lost too much blood to argue.”
Before he could make another protest, Eve took the iron from Iman and ordered two of them to hold his arms while Iman and Gerald braced his legs. In another second, she pressed the iron to his wound with a sizzle, and the meaty smell of burning blood and flesh permeated the yurt.
Michel yelled inside his throat, against the towel, as every muscle in his body spasmed. Then, in a whoosh of energy, the tension left his body as he passed out.Good, she thought, seeing the effects of the tea and the pain working with the instincts of his body. She changed the position of the cautery to get the rest of the jagged cut. His skin hissed as it burned.
She took a few more passes, checking the wound as she did, but she was able to finish as the iron cooled. Satisfied, she handed it back to Iman. The men hung around nervously, but now she just needed Michel to rest while she continued working on him. “Thank you,” she said to them. “I will call on you if I need more assistance.”
“I will be here, Eve,” said Iman. “However I can help.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Iman.” She looked at the others. “Now out,” she said, giving them all a weak smile in thanks.
Michel rested calmly. Finally. She took her first breath then. She set out to clean the rest of him, the rest of the wounds, and the sweat from his hair. She removed his boots and torn pants, leaving on just his undergarments. She cared for every scrape. She touched every inch of skin. She worked carefully, reverently. She knew what this fight had meant for him. Michel was not a killer. He was a politician. It would cause him problems in his home, in his kingdom.
She had caused these wounds, too. She washed his face with warm water and looked at the hard lines of his cheeks, softened with sleep.My God, she thought, feeling things inside her that she didn’t know quite how to deal with. She wanted to worship him, to show him all her gratitude. At the same time, she wanted more from him too, a demand that threaded through each vein, knotting in her heart. She wanted him to guard her, adore her. She never wanted to be separated. At one point, Michel had called her lucky for finding him, and she had teased him.
It was true. Every moment near him was a blessing.
Outside of the yurt, the camp stirred with noise. She heard the voices of the men she knew and then the voice of Renault. After a moment, he called at her door. Eve rose to pull it open.
“Goodness,” Renault said, coming to Michel’s bedside. “Is it true he fought that enormous man?”
“I have not known you long, Renault,” she said, still wiping a cloth across Michel’s brow. “But you have known Michel for many years. Do you need to ask me that question?”
Renault shook his head, eyes still on Michel.
“I trust we have your sponsorship to stay now that the threat is over?”
“Mademoiselle, that is not my decision.”
“Surely you can speak to the town officials on his behalf.” She turned to look at him. “He has eliminated the threat. There is no more concern.”
Renault stood in silence.
“Monsieur,” Eve prompted, a sharpness to her voice, surprised he had not immediately agreed to be of assistance.
“My lady,” he blurted. “I, too, am a Frenchman in a foreign land. I cannot press the issue.”
